


I'm Sorry

by LuminescentLily



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: 1x09 Spoilers, Angst, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminescentLily/pseuds/LuminescentLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing under the scalding hot spray of the shower, Connor tried to calm him racing mind. For the first time since this whole night went to hell, he had time to think. Time to really process everything that had happened.</p><p> </p><p>My take on what Connor was thinking during his conversation with Oliver and a slightly different version of the lie he told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Written on my smartphone late last night and during my lunch break so I apologize for any mistakes.

Standing under the scalding hot spray of the shower, Connor tried to calm him racing mind. For the first time since this whole night went to hell, he had time to think. Time to really process everything that had happened.

He'd been an absolute wreck when he'd shown up on Oliver's doorstep. Hands shaking and breath coming up short, it was a miracle he even managed to get off the ground and into Oliver's apartment. Then he'd somehow convinced Oliver to let him take a shower. Though, given how he must have smelled, that probably had less to do with Connor's powers of persuasion than he could credit.

Breathing in the comforting scent of Oliver's body wash, he suppressed another image of staring into Sam's dead, hollow eyes. He would have puked again, if there had been anything left in his stomach to puke up. Still his body gave a few dry heaves, then settled.

He knew Oliver was waiting for him on the other side of the bathroom door. Waiting for answers that Connor desperately wanted to give him but was nearly paralyzed with fear at the mere thought of saying aloud. Terrified of Oliver's reaction. Of the look of horror and disgust that would twist his beautiful features, when he heard what Connor and the others had done.

A million and one arguments raced through his mind. He could start off with how Sam attacked them. That it was self-defense. Or how Sam was already a murderer. How he killed the student he was screwing, when he found out she was pregnant, and then tried to pin it on someone else. He just needed to phrase it the right way. To use the right words to make Oliver understand that there hadn't been a choice in what they did.

But the more he actually thought about it, the more he realized that Michaela had been right. They should have just called the police, when Sam fell over the balcony. The strangle marks on Rebecca's neck alone would have been enough to get them acquitted, especially with all of them as witnesses. It had been a clear-cut case of self defense. They shouldn't have listened to Wes. No jury in the world would have convicted them for Sam's death, but they would for everything that came after. Even a rookie DA world be able to twist the facts and make it look like it had been premeditated. If they were caught, the best they could hope for was a plea bargain and a slightly reduced sentence.

By the time the water started to run cold, he was somewhat himself again. Turning off the faucet, he stepped out of the shower stall on mostly steady legs and wrapped one of Oliver's ridiculously fluffy towels around his waist. Even with the mirror fogged over, he could tell he still looked like crap. 

His eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by heavy bags. His hair was a tangled mess. There were lines around his mouth and his normally trimmed scruff was in disarray. He hadn't shaved his chest in a while either. Hadn't felt the need for that extra effort since the night Oliver tossed him out.

A soft knock on the bathroom door pulled him out of his self inspection.

"Connor?" Oliver called out gently. "Your clothes were pretty gross, so I threw them in the wash. I have some stuff you can borrow."

The door opened just enough for Oliver to drop the clothes on the sink counter. It was only when the door closed again that Connor realized how tightly he was gripping the towel around himself. It was absurd. Oliver had seen and touched and licked nearly every inch of his body and _now_  he was feeling modest!

Shaking his head, he got dressed, purposely opening the door and walking out before he put the shirt on, just to prove to himself that he could. If he pressed the towel to his face for another moment to hide, he certainly would never admit it out loud.

"You feel better?" Oliver asked cautiously.

Nodding his head, he finally pulled the towel from his face and took a deep breath. "Yeah"

"Good...Cause we need to talk," Oliver coaxed lightly.

Funny, Connor had always imagined he would be the one to use those words in a relationship, right before the classic 'It's not you, it's me' and walking out.

"Great," Connor agreed with all the enthusiasm of getting a tooth pulled.

"So," Oliver started expectantly, put still tenderly. "You said you'd tell me after you showered."

Stalling for time, he pulled on one of Oliver's soft cotton shirts. Oliver's clothes were always so soft and soothing. His own clothes may have always appeared to show off his body to the best advantage, but they were often tight and irritating. They forced him to hold himself a certain way, that always looked great, but rarely let him relax.

"What the hell happened last night?" Oliver persisted, giving Connor a bit of smile, no doubt trying and ease the tension and make light of the situation.

Nervously running a hand through his hair--a habit he'd thought he'd broken years ago--Connor looked away and tried to decide what he should open with. He wanted so badly to tell Oliver everything. To just unburden himself of it all. And maybe Oliver would be able to help him. Oliver could use his hacking skills to cover up some incriminating evidence that they missed last night. Could alter the traffic camera footage that he'd been so paranoid about last night. It would be just like all the stuff Oliver had done for him in the past. They could just...

He made the mistake of looking over at Oliver, sitting on the bed. At the sweet, concerned look on his face.

_"Hey, don't be a bitch. I could get arrested for this," Oliver had laughed, bringing a smile, unbidden, to Connor's face._

_"I would never let that happen."_

The memory hit him like a physical blow to the gut and he realized now how true those words had been. He couldn't do this to Oliver. Couldn't drag this wonderful human being into the clusterfuck that was now his life. He had to protect Oliver, even from himself.

So, he did one of the things he did best; he lied.

"I was high."

"What?!" Confusion and disbelief were written plainly across Oliver's face.

It's probably said something about him that the look of utter disbelief on Oliver's face actually made him feel better than he had in a long time. If there was one disreputable thing Connor would never do, it was drugs. Not because they were illegal, but because they took away a person's control and made them dependent upon them. Two things Connor despised. And Oliver knew that. Oliver knew him. Oliver probably better than anyone else in the world at that moment; and that certainly said something about Connor that he didn't care to dwell on, at the moment.

So he pushed on, before Oliver thought about it too closely. He just started talking, piecing together a story as he went. He could practically feel Oliver's eyes boring into him and it made him fidget and press himself against the doorjamb for support. "I don't know what I took...I just...I was mixing a bunch of stuff. Uh, some pills and this new stuff I'd never tried before."

"I thought you didn't do drugs?" Oliver stated, with an edge of accusation creeping into his voice.

"I didn't...before," he went on.

 _Before I screwed up and you kicked me out like I deserved._ He let the unspoken words hang there for a moment.

The best lies are ones that are mostly the truth. He couldn't remember where he'd heard that, but it popped into his head in that moment and gave him an idea. With that, the lie took on a more solid form in his head.

"I've been stressed ever since getting the internship with Professor Keating," he began. "But everything just started building up. Even before you kicked me out, I was having trouble focusing. Then my grades starting to slip. And Annalise just kept pushing us more and more for her cases, even though **_she knew_ ** we had to study for our other classes."

All true. He'd been blessed with a great memory and quick aptitude, but Law School was something else entirely. Add to that all the hours he put in on Annalise's cases, and he really had been struggling. Asking Wes and Laurel to form a study group with him had been a downright desperate move on his part.

"I knew this girl," he continued. "Rebecca, who could get you Adderall to help you study before exams."

Again, not that far from the truth. Rebecca _was_ a drug dealer and this whole situation was her fault in the first place.

"It helped with my grades, but then I couldn't sleep," he was ranting now, pacing back and forth, hand running through his hair so much that he was in danger of giving himself a bald spot. "Every time I closed my eyes I'd see Paxton jumping out of that window. I took some stuff, just to get a sleep a few hours sleep."

Truth. There had been more than a few nights in recent weeks, where he'd woken from a nightmare, covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Running and fucking himself to exhaustion had helped, but only just.

"Then..." He closed his eyes, searching for something to say next. But he could barely form a coherent thought over the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

"Then you couldn't stay awake," Oliver supplied, his skepticism visibly slipping form his face.

"Yes," he signed, grasping at the thread Oliver supplied. "It started affecting the cases with Annalise. I wouldn't pick up on obvious lies. I missed things. Stupid things. Didn't do as thorough a job of vetting a witness as I should have done and it nearly destroyed an entire case."

"So you took more drugs and it made things worse," Oliver added.

"It all just happened _so fast_. One minute I was laughing things off," cracking jokes about seeing the freaked out look on Michaela's face "and the next, things were completely out of control." Sam's body lying in a pool of blood "I tried to fix it" cleaning up the crime scene, burning the body "but I think I just made it even worse" all the fibers and DNA evidence they left everywhere, all the people who saw them "...until I ended up here."

Again he made the mistake of looking at Oliver. All traces of suspicion were gone. Instead it was replaced with compassion and other emotions that he didn't deserve.

His body slumped against the wall, hands trembling and his chest constricting again. 

"I--I just--I'm sorry, Oliver," he sobbed. "I'm sorry I cheated. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I killed Pax. Sorry I'm such a fuck-up. I'm so sorry I came here and dumped all this on you."

His breath was hitching again and he felt like he was on the edge of another breakdown, when two strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. He must have been some kind of saint in a past life to deserve everything that Oliver was doing for him. Oliver, who was everything that was comfort and safety and normalcy.

For just a minute he let himself melt into Oliver's embrace. But only for a minute.

Connor sometimes used to wonder if he had any conscience at all. In that moment, he realized that he did. As badly as he wanted to hold onto Oliver and never let him go again, he'd caused him enough trouble for a lifetime. With more willpower than he ever before possessed, he pushed Oliver away.

"Connor, what--"

"I'm not going to mess up your life any more than I already have," he asserted vehemently. "I'm not screwing up whatever you have going with your new boyfriend, who's probably a great guy and actually deserves you."

"Boyfriend?" Oliver echoed, his face scrunching up adorably in confusion. "You lost me."

"Hot spatula guy," Connor sneered, standing up again and taking a step away. "I saw him the other night, when I came with flowers--"

"Wait," Oliver frowned. "You came here? When? And flowers? Spatula guy?"

"We didn't exactly exchange pleasantries," Connor shrugged, wrapping his arms around his torso defensive. "But he made it clear that he cared about you and that I should leave you alone. Asshole that I am, I didn't listen."

Whatever Oliver had been about to say, was interrupted by the obnoxiously loud text tone on his phone. Needing an escape before he took advantage of Oliver even more, he grabbed it. Expecting a text from one of the others in the murder conspiracy, he was surprised to see it was from Bonnie.

"I have to go," he said, grabbing his stuff and making his way to the door. "It's Bonnie, she needs us back at the house."

"Are you serious!?!" Oliver shouted incredulously. "You're not going to work. You just told me you have a drug addiction. And that place is what drove you to it. We need to talk about this!"

No, he needed to leave. This was probably a trap. He'd go there or back to his apartment and find the cops waiting for him. He need to put as much space between him and Oliver as possible. Just being here increased the odds of Oliver being arrested as an accessory after the fact.

"If I lose this internship, then I don't have anything!" he snarled back, reaching for he doorknob

Truth. He didn't have friends; not really. He barely had any family. He'd sacrificed Oliver for this internship and what it could do for his future. If he lost it now, then he had nothing. He was nothing.

A firm hand wrapping around his wrist stopped him.

"That's not true," Oliver all but whispered. "Stay. Please, just talk to me."

"I..." the words of whatever he was about to say stuck in his throat.

"If you have to go," Oliver continued. "I understand. I know how much this internship means to you. But we should talk about this. Come over for dinner tonight. I'll cook. You look like you could use a decent meal."

It took far too long for Connor to remember how to work his voice but, when he did, his words surprised even himself. "You don't have to do this. If you feel guilty or something, **then don't**. I screwed up my life all on my own. You just got caught up in it."

"I still want us to talk about this," Oliver insisted.

"I doubt your boyfriend would like that," Connor tried again.

There was small huff of laughter, before Oliver corrected him. "I think the 'hot spatula guy' you're referring to is my brother-in-law. He and my sister were in town for the weekend and the hotel lost their reservation, so they were crashing on my couch. David happens to be a terrible cook, but he tries. I also want to hear more about those flowers."

Despite his resolve to protect Oliver from what he'd done, he couldn't stop the small bloom of hope in his chest.

"Okay," he surrendered. "I'll come over later. We'll talk."

Walking back to his car, he really hoped he wasn't about to go and get arrested.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble that popped in my head reading all the comments in the Coliver tag after the episode. Let me know what you think or say hi to me on tumblr at Luminescentlily.tumblr.com


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